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Telling Tales; Open to Anarchs
Topic Started: Jan 31 2018, 03:48 PM (286 Views)
Vincent Tadeu
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Shovelhead
[ *  * ]
Vinnie was sat in the private section of the bar; a separate bar altogether really, separated from the rest. The building in which he did most of his business was large and attached to a large warehouse at the back; it had originally been a factory but when the depression hit Detroit and business started to move elsewhere the property had been left vacant, available for purchase at a knockdown price. Vinnie had scooped up the whole complex and had completely refurbished it; the warehouse remained, officially it was used as a storage facility for the bar and the small vending machine company he ran as a front. The rest was divided into three parts, the main bar where anyone could walk in off the street at any hour and get a drink, the private bar which only kindred and others inducted into the Masquerade could enter, and Vinnie’s haven which occupied the sublevels below the building.

Vinnie always had been an early riser, ever since his embrace, so at this time there were never many people in. Even so as he sat in one of the rear booths, smoking one of his characteristic Montecristo cigarillos, he had collected a small group of fellow Anarchs and a few ghouls. For his part Vinnie sat with his arms outstretched along the top of the padded booth seating, the haze of smoke and shadows hiding his features; an attractive young woman sat on either side of him, more for show than anything else although they doubled as his own walking bloodbags at need. It was one of those nights, the kind that those granted the mixed blessing of the embrace found interminable. Nothing much of anything was happening. Mortals might call it a slow day, Vinnie called it hell.

For the past half hour his little group had been idly talking about their backgrounds, some were young and naïve enough to talk freely about it, not bothering to hide any of the details for the sake of security. It didn’t matter, Vinnie wasn’t the kind of person who took advantage of people unless he absolutely had to, but some of the older Kindred present might be. Still, it wasn’t his job to police them, just like it wasn’t his job to watch over the newly embraced of which there were many. The number of embraces had sharply risen in Detroit of late, a combination of poverty, politics, and war; the trouble was the sires of these newly undead weren’t around the kick their progeny into shape – either they were dead, or didn’t care, or simply knew no better themselves. The number of high generation kindred had exploded and the Caitiff were everywhere.

Taking a deep draw on his cigarillo Vinnie tapped off the ash into a nearby ashtray. A break in the general conversation gave him the chance to talk. On nights like this he preferred to sit back and let others talk while he listened, you could pick up useful information that way, or if you tuned out the hubbub it gave you time to think. But tonight Vinnie was feeling nostalgic, so he coughed softly, an unnecessary affection but one which got people’s attention. ”You all talk like you don’t realise what you are. Like you’re still human, mortal. You talk like I used to talk. Openly, freely, communicating as if you are part of some civilised society, but it simply isn’t so. This existence is war, you’ve seen the amount of bloodshed in this city over territory and power.”

”Call me jaded, maybe I am, but I’ve lost my appetite for civilisation. At least the kind of civilisation we’re propping up right now. You know how many spies I have to deal with? How many people I have do away with just to maintain my way of life and my basic existence?”

The group around him had gone quiet, they were looking at him with a mixture of fear and confusion. Damn he could be a real downer at time, but it was true, someone was very interested in what he was doing, or if Vinnie was honest with himself, not doing. He wasn’t some King, able to order about ‘his’ people at will, hell not even the London Anarchs were entirely ‘his’ anymore. Sure he represented them on the Council which kept the Anarch community from tearing itself apart from within, but outside his own little organisation he commanded no-one. The Anarchs were a growing force and they were going to expand and fight turf wars even if he tried to stop them. After he had pioneered the idea of Stronghold Outposts every Anarch in the city wanted one to call their own; it was a sign of prestige which, at the time, when the Anarchs had been united against Nash, had seemed like a very good idea. Now that they lacked that unity of purpose it was a free for all with everyone the king of their own little castle, holding court and aping the structures and pageantry of the Ivory Tower at its worst.

In theory Detroit had gone from having one Baron ruling a singular Anarch movements to a Council of the three major factions, which was meant to make things more stable. In practice the Council had only nominal power and none of the individual representatives had the clout to enforce its rule. That meant that any Anarch strong enough and with enough resources could do more or less what they liked and this situation was leading to a political landscape akin to the Dark Ages. Vinnie as an idealist believed that the Anarchs should live up to their name and their history and be a totally free society without a hierarchy; but Vinnie as a realist knew that this was suicide. The Camarilla would regroup sooner or later, the Sabbat were already mustering their forces, and while the Anarch stronghold system made individual kindred more secure it weakened the collective whole.
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Kaz
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Shovelhead
[ *  * ]
For all his perceived faults, deceit did not seem to be on the list for Sullivan. Kaz did not know if this honesty was extended to everyone, to Kindred, or if he was getting special treatment simply because of his connection to Nora, but no matter how much the truth seemed to burn the Gangrel, apparently lying and brushing the problem aside was even more distasteful.

Kaz's furrowed brow and clenched jaw slowly began to relax as Sullivan retold his story into a cautious mask. Even that fell away as it was his senior neared the ending of his story. Eyes wide, Kaz could only stare at the table in front of him as he slumped back in his chair, arms encircling him as if to ward off the chill he felt. Horror gripped his heart, as he suddenly realized just how close he was to losing it all. Diablerie. So that what happened all those years ago in Baku.

He wasn't certain at the time what he was feeling. That small sliver of... something else that tried to follow the flow of blood into his mouth. And it almost succeeded. Kaz was far too hungry and hurt at the time to have fought his Beast on that one, not when he didn't know the danger he was in. It was only by the grace of God--maybe literally--that he was interrupted before he could even make the choice. But Sullivan, stronger than him, had difficulty staving off the lingering ghost of his sire; one generation superior. How could have Kaz hoped to have faired against the soul of a Kindred centuries older?

Slowly, Kaz began to slip back out of his reverie the sound of Vinnie's voice. "...if anyone in this city knows anything about diablerie it'll be Deveaux, given he's supposed to have consumed Nash..."

With that, the younger Gangrel's head snapped up. "Hold on, that's what happened?" He leaned forward again, looking into Vinnie's eyes, flickering between the one scarred and the one whole. "Deveaux, he was supposed to be the resident Baron before you all came into town, right?" New town, new names, but Kaz made certain to learn what he could in what little time he had spent in Detroit.

"But Nash was thousands of years old, wasn't he? Could Deveaux really have some sort of... Trick to make him stay down?" The man from Miami thumbed over his shoulder at Sullivan. "'Cause Sully's having trouble with one generation older. So that's not the case, then either Nash might not be as gone as was hoped..." Kaz took a brief moment to glance over and lock eyes with Sully before turning back to the black Brujah. "... Or it begs the question... Who the hell is Deveaux?"
Edited by Kaz, Mar 26 2018, 11:51 PM.
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Sullivan
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[ *  * ]
The Irishman seemed to crumble a little into his chair as he sat back down, not physically exhausted by the retelling, just... Reminded of how weak he felt for having slipped into this situation. Reminded of how sometimes it felt like maybe Alasdair was right. he heard a ghostly cackle and his eyes hardened, boring holes into his own thigh as he gripped the wraith with mental talon-fingers and tore. The faded shriek of Alasdair's pain made him feel better. "It's not as cut an' dried as 'one generation higher is always hard', Kaz. It depends on a lotta factors. Who they are. What they've done. Alasdair embraced me into tha Sabbat, an' he brought out tha worst in me fer years. Manipulative in life, worse in death - in my noggin' he's got more'n just ammunition. He's got dates, names, places. But... He killed my mother. I'll be ash before I see him win."

He looked to Vinnie, uncomfortable being the weak-link of the trio, but taking his newly percieved position as earned. "I thought about tryin' ta find Deveaux. Put feelers out. Alasdair's nowhere near in control enough ta call me 'half-crazed' though, heh. Not... Not again. Nearly took all I held close in one hour or less in some shitty little apartment in a city I didn't yet call home. Never again." He felt some of his strength and social swagger return, but not enough to put him any higher on the pecking order. While the Beast thought it was a shame, Sullivan was not willing to engage with it. This was too important.

On the one hand he resented the implication that he essentially needed to be committed to 'kindred asylum' in order to control the sire that had made his unlife so miserable. And on the other, it upset him to think they could be right. Either way, happiness with the situation was not something he expected, so... He trucked along. Then an idea hit him like a boot to the face, and a stunned expression of eureka sat on his features. "Matachelli." he stated, as if that explained everything.

He looked to Vinnie and spoke, "Deveaux is still first port of call... But if his methods involve tha Loa? Uh-uh. No way. I got enough voices in my head as-is, an' I do not do tha whole 'serve me fer a year' bullcrap ya hear about. Had one master already, an' ya see me payin' for it right before yer eyes. But Tha prince was tha one who gave me a stern talkin' to an' helped put Alasdair back in his cage so firm, on tha field o' battle no less. I think tha man's bad news... But He know somethin' I don't. I mean Hell, it's that or deal with Cutting - an' ya already know that's a no-go."
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Vincent Tadeu
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Shovelhead
[ *  * ]
Vinnie looked at Kaz for a moment, the kid was drawing some rapid conclusions on the situation which betrayed his relative youth as a Kindred. Things were rarely so simple or obvious as they appeared where the supernatural was concerned, even when you boiled them down to their basic components. The laws of science, nature, and logic ceased to apply and almost any mind bendingly bizarre possibility was on the table. "Thing is no-one really knows exactly what happened between Deveaux and Nash except for the two survivors of the incident, and the other one is Cutting who, as Sully pointed out, is the biggest no-go in the city. You're not familiar with the way of things here Kaz, so let me put it to you straight - Deveaux might be weird as all hell, Matachelli might be the leader of the Capes, but Cutting is Lucifer himself in kindred form. He's not all powerful, but he's the kind of man you can't trust for anything except deception, trickery, and entrapment. I'd sooner go cap in hand to the Archbishop of the Sabbat and offer him my soul for eternity than make a bargain with that man."

Wringing his hand Vinnie considered the options in front of them. It was the case of choosing the lesser of three evils; he knew for a certainty that Cutting would be the most knowledgeable of the three, but he was the least trustworthy. Matachelli would almost definitely know something, but he led the Capes and Anarch-Camarilla tensions were high right now. Deveaux was a frightening prospect and widely regarded as something of a traitor, but at least he knew his stuff and had transferred his power willingly once the Nash Incident was over. It wasn't easy. None of the options were ideal, but of them all only Deveaux wasn't trying to control or oppress them.

"Well I'm on the Council of Three which replaced Deveaux as Baron, it means I have the closest thing to a direct line to Deveaux. To answer your question Kaz, Deveaux was an Elder before the Nash Incident, not exactly sure how old he is, but old enough. That and he's steeped in the occult and supernatural. Who knows what or who he is now though. Still I'd rather face him than deal with the alternatives." Vinnie raised his hand and beckoned over one of his Ghouls who was sat in the far corner keeping an eye on the door. He wasn't there when the trouble had started but he'd arrived soon after when it became clear a little extra muscle might be needed. The Ghoul came over and Vinnie sent him off with instructions to contact Deveaux. "Deveaux's dealt with Harry as my messenger before, with any luck that'll give him the access he needs to make us an appointment to see the man. We should hear back in an hour or so."
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Kaz
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[ *  * ]
A small tigrine growl almost thrummed through the young man's chest, but he managed to keep it in check, if only just. Typically, he had a much better handle on the bestial sounds he made since his frenzy, but whether it was feeling comfortable in Elysium, feeling on-edge around elder vampires, or both, he felt the growls and roars came a little too easily. He made a mental note to keep it in check as he tried to calm down about this whole Deveaux situation.

Of course, in his eyes, his two seniors were treating it with a bit too much care as it were. Maybe inexperience was a factor, but it seemed to Kaz that associating with older Kindred was like keeping an alligator in your house. Certainly, if treated with respect and kept well fed, it might seem calm, but it was only one slight provocation away from becoming a five-hundred-pound nightmare. Kaz didn't like alligators. And he didn't like Elders.

He did not push the issue, however, as the other two made it clear they did not consider the implications to be worth considering at the moment, but Kaz kept his thoughts to himself. Diablerie may have been a common subject, but surely not at this level. Methuselah, they shaped the world around them. Myths and legends spread behind their wake like wildfire, and many became the subject of divine worship, even in this day and age as the Cult of Nash proved. The young Gangrel found it hard to believe that such things could go so quietly. Not without dire consequences.

As he ruminated, he still took in the words of his peers, taking in the information and recounting what he had already learned. Matachelli and Cutting. Those two names most certainly piqued his interest. He had heard them both before, of course, and both brought other reactions due to the reputations he had heard from them.

For Matachelli, he felt a cautious optimism. Respect. As the Camarilla Prince, he was often cursed by the Anarch sects, but seemingly for no other reason than for being the Prince. What he represented offended more than what he had done. According to others, his Princedom was earned through blood, not by politics, as he offed the previous Prince, who by all other accounts was far worse than he could have been. But still, he was a figurehead for the establishment that Anarchs detested, and while Kaz was willing to offer him the benefit of the doubt, he was a very old vampire, and that still didn't sit well with the young Tiger.

And then, Cutting. That name brought fear. Vinnie spoke of his Machiavellian nature, and it sounded like what he had heard from others. The Prince's name was besmirched when Kindred felt like badmouthing the Camarilla, but when it came to discussing corruption and the abuse of power in general, Cutting's name was always the first to escape lips. It was as if his allegiance to the Camarilla didn't even matter, and maybe it didn't. He had heard that he was representative of his family back home and had aspirations higher than his position as Keeper of Elysium. To hear others speak of him, the peace that should have been the goal of his station was more like a tool to him, to be used when necessary and set aside whenever it suited him.

"Yeah," Kaz barely coughed out, with an ironic half-chuckle. "Can't say I'm shocked that he's not near the top of your list. Sounds like he'd be more likely to make a deal with Alastair than to help you with him. Of course, if he did help, likely be that you wouldn't like the cost." He smirked slightly at Sully. "Try not to let him sucker you into a deal at the crossroads, eh?" He considered a moment too late that the old blues metaphor might not translate as well to his immigrant compatriots.

"Well, I'll admit to not liking it, but I still think you guys have the right idea," Kaz said, rubbing his eyes and leaning back. He almost kicked his feet up on the table but thought better of it. It might have been a little too disrespectful, and he knew he already had a very punchable face. Vinnie may have already displayed such comforts, but it was his bar. "We got an hour to kill. Anyone else got something they think needs saying?" Already Kaz included himself in this venture, even though he was not invited. He had stakes in Sully's healing, and a curiosity to know the character of Deveaux. Independence might have been a strength of Kaz, but it certainly made him seem brash and headstrong.
Edited by Kaz, Apr 1 2018, 05:23 PM.
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Sullivan
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Shovelhead
[ *  * ]
Sullivan snerked, running his hands through his mane and letting his musculature sag in relief. For a moment he'd been uncertain to the intentions Vinnie had towards him. Just a moment, but a moment enough to feel anxious, restless... A little scared. It had been a long, long time since he'd been vulnerable to anyone, recent Alasdair-related issues aside. The last time he'd really taken that chance was... Well, Nora. And he had marks to prove the roughness of that road, however worthy it'd been to walk it.

"Heh... Pass. I been through enough shit to last me ten more lifetimes over... But I don't spill my tears fer tha Sabbat. Talkin' about that shit just makes me angry." He wished he was lying. But he wasn't. He'd been killed, turned, warped into a twisted, wretched excuse for an unlife, made to feel like inflicting his own pain on others helped when all it'd done was give Alasdair greater hold. Until Leslie that was more or less his unlife encapsulated. Then... Well, he'd turned her in the woods and left her with survival instructions. Tried to keep her out of the Sabbat.

By the time she'd first arrived in London, he'd been in the hotbox, no longer aware of why. Wouldn't have recognized her if he tried. He felt Alasdair's wraith imply that the Irishman ought to thank him for that at least, the memories that had revealed who she was to him - but Sullivan simply ground his teeth, willing the thought away. There was no thanks Alasdair would ever get from him. Not after all he'd done.

The feeling that something was coming, however, niggled at him. Like an itch he couldn't reach, it aggravated under his skin, felt raw, angry and out of reach. But for how long did it stay at arms length - that was the question. "I got one suspicion, but I said before... Can't worry about it without proof. Take 'em a while ta get here anyway... I hope."
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Vincent Tadeu
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Shovelhead
[ *  * ]
The time passed slowly, awkwardly almost. The personal issues and history between Kaz and Sully made things seem tense, like a wrong move could trigger something they'd rather not have to deal with; it made the air seem like treacle, sluggishly moving inexorably towards some dreaded conclusion. Vinnie had tried to keep things light, for the sake of keeping it easy to manage, but you couldn't keep it light forever when serious issues were involved. Kaz was right of course, about not liking the situation or their need to rely upon beings above and beyond their understanding, but he was also right that is was the best course of action given the circumstances. With the general atmosphere in Detroit heating up nightly as the three major sects tumbled closer and closer to all out war Vinnie needed to know he could rely on Sully; this Alastair was an unknown factor that threw everything out the window in that regard.

Finally the Ghoul returned and whispered in Vinnie's ear. They had their audience. Deveaux would see them straight away. It wasn't unusual, Deveaux was generally prompt in meeting people once an audience was requested, especially when one of those people was on the Council. "Well gents, we'd best get moving. Deveaux will see us right away, best not to keep him waiting."

Continued: Here
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